


A Good Day

by HenryMercury



Series: Avatar Prompts [2]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: A little House of Cards, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, F/M, Gen, US Politics - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 21:09:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6255952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenryMercury/pseuds/HenryMercury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When President Hou Ting is assassinated, Kuvira steps up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Day

**Author's Note:**

> For an anon who [asked for Baavira](http://henrymercury.tumblr.com/post/141079060027/can-you-do-a-baavira-prompt-please).

 

"Mother called. She isn't happy."

Kuvira keeps buttoning her blouse without pause. "Of course Su isn't happy," she replies. "She doesn't want to work for me. She's made that abundantly clear."

"Give her time to adjust. It is rather sudden, after all."

Kuvira finishes with her buttons and reaches for the black blazer hanging on the back of the door. She pulls it on and fastens it at the front. It isn't her old uniform, but it is still quite military in style, and deliberately so. Her service record is a key part of how she got here, why Hou Ting put Kuvira on her ticket at the last election, and it's essential to remind the people of that, especially in times of crisis. She adjusts her shirt collar, turns to the mirror and observes the outfit.

"Do you think I should have worn the pantsuit instead?" she asks Baatar.

"You look stunning," he replies. He looks sharp in his suit, too. Silver suits him better than it does many of the older men Kuvira works with. For one thing, it doesn't match his hair.

There's no use in wasting time on unnecessary wardrobe changes now. She picks a tube of lipstick up off the vanity counter, pulls the cap off and looks at the bright pigment inside. Burberry; Military Red. A gift, appropriate in name but not exactly her colour. She snaps the lid back into place without putting any on. Even if applying lipstick wouldn't waste much time in practice, the appearance that she isn't pouring her every moment into the real issues is to be avoided.

"As I was saying, I'm sure mother will come around," Baatar goes on, dragging a comb through his hair. The side part isn't quite straight, so Kuvira moves to stand behind his chair and gently stops his hands in their tracks, taking hold of the comb and fixing it. His eyes stare forward into the mirror, watching her as she works on him.

"She's disappointed that I didn't join the CIA when I retired," Kuvira sighs. "I was in Congress for six years and she never came around. Now she's bitter because I have authority over her. Suyin could have had the presidency if she'd pursued it. It isn't my fault she chose not to."

The past twenty-four hours have been a time of sudden and drastic change, and she can't really blame those who are feeling unsettled by it. The President has been assassinated. Not even shot, but asphyxiated. She _can_ , however, lay blame on those who aren't doing their part to keep the country orderly in the wake of the incident. Suyin is letting her personal anger interfere with her job right now—unacceptable for the head of the CIA at any time, but especially at a time like this. Kuvira has been briefed on things that could easily send Suyin's head rolling—things about Su's friend Aiwei, a spy for the very group who killed Hou Ting, allowed not only to infiltrate the intelligence agency but to climb high within its ranks on her watch. Kuvira hasn't removed Su because she knows it'll only cause her more trouble if she does, but she'll hardly be _forgetting_ this information.

Kuvira finishes with Baatar's hair, reaches out for his glasses and slides them back onto his face. He looks smart. Distinguished. Her hand strokes over his jaw, feels the little bit of facial hair he keeps on the condition that it's always well-groomed.

"Perhaps you should stand with me today," she muses.

"What do you mean?" Baatar asks. "I _will_ be there. Standing to your right with Secretary Raiko."

Kuvira bristles at the very mention of Raiko's name, but she keeps her vindictive thoughts to herself. Now isn't the time to institute a drastic reshuffle. Now is the time to step in and comfort her nation. To ensure that its citizens know _she_ is the one they need leading them.

"I meant with me at the podium. I can project strength without any difficulty but this occasion requires a delicate balance. Something other than just aggression. Having you there demonstrates support, cooperation..."

"Love," Baatar offers.

"That," Kuvira smiles softly. "You can't get sappy in front of the cameras, though."

"I would never."

"You _cried during my first victory speech_."

Baatar sighs the sigh of a man who has spent years being reminded of a single unfortunate tear, made absolutely immortal by Youtube. "It was a moving speech, and we were all incredibly tired at the end of the campaign, and I was so relieved that you'd been elected—"

Kuvira leans down and cuts off his arguments with a kiss. Even when she has to lean down at an awkward angle, it's a very effective tactic. If only some of her colleagues were so easy to shut up. Not that the thought of kissing the likes of Raiko is appealing. She checks her mouth in the mirror afterwards and is especially glad she decided against the lipstick.

"If you cry today, dear, just make sure it looks like you're grieving the former president, not celebrating my promotion."

Baatar huffs, as he always does when she teases him this way. It frustrates him, but not as much as the long nights she spends out of bed poring over papers and whispering angrily into the telephone. She offers him a hand, pulls him to his feet so that they're face to face and it's easy to kiss him again.

"Like I'd grieve Hou Ting," Baatar sneers. It's unkind, but so was Kuvira's colleague. An old bat with a family legacy she'd never have been elected without, and a money laundering scandal just waiting to happen. Even where Kuvira agreed with her tough taxation policies she'd found it hard to stomach the manner with which Hou Ting presented them. Running with her was a means to an end, and her end has given Kuvira what she wanted sooner than expected.

"We _will_ be celebrating, though," she assures her fiancé. "The White House has several very impressive bedrooms." She can't rumple his clothes, but she knows how to move her hands over them smoothly with maximum effect.

Baatar steps back and gives her a pained look. "If you want me on camera in the next five minutes you're going to have to stop with that."

Kuvira laughs. She doesn't get enough reasons to laugh anymore. She's glad she can bring Baatar around with her, because he's very useful for that.

"Sorry," she says, and pecks his lips one last time before going to inform the agents on the other side of the door that they're ready.

Her court shoes rub at the heels as she strides down the corridor, but she doesn't let her discomfort show. They're new, is all, and she's determined to wear them in before they can wear her out. She is tall already, but appreciates the extra height they give her. In them she stands equal in height with Baatar, and she towers over the shorter men around her. Her skirt is crisp, tight around the knees, and her blazer is comfortable. Bolin pats a final dusting of powder onto her nose and forehead, gives her an enthusiastic grin and thumbs up, and then ushers her around to front the press. She steps onto the stage with her arm around Baatar's waist, but leaves him to the side as she continues to the central podium.

Bulbs flash and reporters call out. Zhu Li is no doubt ready to quiet them down, but Kuvira holds a hand up herself and the noise stops. It's very satisfying, holding the attention of the room, the nation, the world so tightly.

"It is under tragic circumstances that I stand before you today," she begins. No one breathes. Her voice booms, filling the entire room, even though she's yet to really turn up the rhetoric. "My thoughts are with President Hou Ting's family and friends at this time, as I am sure all of America's are." In fact, Hou Ting had no friends to speak of and her only family was a bumbling nephew who Kuvira prefers to excise from her thoughts—but on a day like this such remarks are necessary platitudes.

"But I am also here today to tell you in no uncertain terms that the actions of a few deranged men and women will not stop us from continuing on our way. As you know by now, one of the perpetrators was killed at the scene, and the other three are in custody. They will face the full force of our justice system. They will also be forced to face their own failure, because despite their crimes the government of America will not be intimidated. The people of America will not be intimidated. Today we are reminded that the freedom of our nation must be fought for—and we are reminded of why it is so necessary that we continue that fight. These rebels, these anarchists, would bring down everything our founding fathers established. But just as the people made America great it is _we_ , the people, who will stand firm and sustain our way of life even in the face of adversity, as has always been the American way.

"I served this country in active war zones without fear because I knew that my cause, our cause, was worth risking my life for. I take up this office now with the same fearless conviction."

All in all, it's a good day to be giving a speech; no need to focus on rebutting useless quotes, simplifying tricky policy issues, or justifying tough calls to people who'll never want to accept their necessity. Today, it's just the satisfaction of finally taking the position she's wanted since she decided to go into politics—and being thanked for her courage in doing it.

Dozens of hands shoot up into the air as Zhu Li calls for questions. She selects one journalist, who Kuvira recognises—Varrick. She's had dealings with him in the past. Smart in an unusual way, opportunistic, unbiased other than towards whoever will get him a cover story. Sensationalist, sometimes, but in an inherently theatrical moment like this, not the worst choice.

"Ms. President..." Varrick begins, and Kuvira swallows a wide, satisfied smile.

**Author's Note:**

> So... was my American Patriotism™ accurate? Why/why not? I thought about doing real research into speeches like this but life is too short.


End file.
